Lord of the Truth

Clank Clank

"Graaaahhh!!!" Amon roared, his voice a guttural echo of fury and defiance. His right hand, grotesquely reshaped into a gleaming, blood-streaked cleaver, slashed through the air with deadly precision, shoving one of his attackers backward. Yet even before the foe hit the ground, Amon's sharp senses flared—another adversary was closing in fast from behind.

"Die already, you monster!" bellowed one of the twenty generals, his eyes blazing with murderous intent. His hands gripped an epic, rune-etched weapon, raised high to strike a blow intended to cleave Amon in two with a single swing.

Swish! From the shifting mass of Amon's back, flesh rippled and twisted, coalescing into a needle-like projection that shot out with lethal speed, extending three meters in a heartbeat. This was no ordinary attack; it was one of the extraordinary abilities inherent to the bodies of demon emperors. Their very flesh, blood, and bones could be manipulated and reshaped at will— a grotesque yet elegant weapon forged from their essence.

"Argh!" The general cried out in pain, unable to halt his momentum in time. The crimson needle pierced his eye with a sickening squelch, sending shockwaves of agony through his body. Yet, driven by sheer will, he staggered back just before the blood weapon could skewer his brain.

Swish! Swish! A fresh wave of martial emperors descended upon Amon, their formations tightening like a steel net around him. They advanced cautiously, weapons at the ready, keeping just out of reach of his savage, unpredictable attacks.

Huff… huff… Amon's labored breaths reverberated through the chaos, his massive frame quivering with exertion. Though his soul sense—a constant, all-encompassing awareness compensating for his lack of eyes—provided him with unparalleled perception and lightning-quick reactions, the relentless assault was beginning to wear him down.

Earlier, Amon had stormed into the battlefield's right flank like a tempest, cutting down countless soldiers of the Great Serpent Empire and shattering their intricate battle arrays. His ferocious intervention had given his beleaguered forces a brief reprieve. But it wasn't long before the enemy generals, bolstered by their elite retinues, descended upon him. Like predators isolating their prey, they drew him away from the main battlefield, forcing him into an uneven fight.

The Warlords, meanwhile, fared no better. Each titan fought valiantly against impossible odds, facing twenty imperial guards apiece—far more than their already immense capabilities could handle. Their survival relied on their sheer size, powerful defensive formations, and the countless arrays they'd prepared. But even these defenses were crumbling. The corrosive poison seeping through the battlefield claimed more lives with every passing moment, each fallen warrior weakening the integrity of the War Sovereign formations. The balance of power tilted further with every loss.

Amon's plight mirrored the broader struggle. Though he'd drawn away five enemy generals and scores of mid-level demon emperors, his valiant stand had failed to shift the tide of the battle. The demons were still being overwhelmed, their forces steadily crushed under the unyielding might of the Great Serpent Empire.

"No!!" Amon's roar pierced the heavens, a desperate cry filled with frustration and fury. His soul sense flared with dreadful clarity, revealing what had just unfolded: the encirclement was complete.

The enemy's strategy had worked. The Great Serpent Empire's forces were now splitting their efforts—tightening the stranglehold around the beleaguered demons while simultaneously breaching the city's walls. Their banners fluttered triumphantly in the poisoned winds, signaling the beginning of the end.

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"My main army will remain at the Poison Rock Planet… I don't need them."

"Excuse me?" Pythor couldn't decide whether to laugh or be angry.

Robin sighed, turning his gaze back to Pythor. "You were generous with me earlier, offering me clarity and explaining your position with that restaurant analogy. So, although Caesar asked me for an explanation before coming here and I refused, I won't withhold one from you..."

"...When I was young, about 14 years old or so, I was a prodigy. I had the option to cultivate in a minor law of the Fire Path, take on several family businesses, and live a luxurious life. But no… I had to aim for something no one had ever achieved before, to etch my name in history and chase dreams like that. My ambition pushed me toward my destiny as a Truth Chosen— and a wretched fate that surrounded everyone I knew," Robin spoke slowly, his past flashing before his eyes like a reel. "And sadly, even that didn't make me unique. I discovered there was another Great Truth Chosen that helped me, and I realized that everything I was striving for had already been done by others before me. I was just an ant in an ocean of planets. All my ideas and ambitions weighed nothing."

"...Not too long ago, I used to beat myself, crying, wishing I could go back in time and choose to live a normal life! But all of that gradually faded with time. What remained was hunger… hunger for more." Robin smiled as he opened his hands. "I realized I had a bad trait, Pythor. I'm not the kind of person who's satisfied with what they have. I always, always, want more."

"I might not be ready to face what awaits me in the middle planetary belt, but I want to see it. I might not be prepared to venture freely through the young planetary belt without control, but I want to try!" He leaned back on the throne's armrests with grandeur. "But this intention would be a joke if I had to mobilize my entire army just to eliminate a pitiful enemy like you— a person who spent 10,000 years to only seize eight planets. Wouldn't that be pathetic? Even if I won, I'd feel like I lost. I'd feel unprepared, that all my ambitions, my hunger, would lead to nothing but my death. So here I am..."

An infinite pride shone on Robin's face. "Forget about my forces in Poison Rock, and forget about the fact that I have a comparable number of troops stationed on your other planets, awaiting my signal. I didn't even distribute gravity bracelets to the demons before the battle. Look around as much as you like, Pythor. With the forces you see before you, I'll defeat you today. I'll prove to myself, first and foremost, that my ambition is not a madman's delusion!"

"...You truly are a madman!" Pythor's expression transformed throughout Robin's speech until suppressed rage was evident on every inch of his face. He pointed to a specific direction. "And indeed, your hunger will end in your death today—because of your lack of wisdom, because of your arrogance that surpasses mine!"

Clank Clank

Boom!

The direction Pythor pointed to was where the main army was engaged. The walls there had been breached, and the army of the Great Serpent Empire surged into the city.

"...How unfortunate. Amon has failed. Perhaps I've been backing the wrong person all these years." Robin's eyes turned cold. "No matter. I'll take things into my own hands then."

"You won't take a single step from here," a killing intent gleamed in Pythor's eyes.

"I won't need to." Robin chuckled. With a single thought, two silver portals opened to his right and left, and out stepped two individuals— individuals Pythor knew all too well.

Pythor stood slowly, his eyes wide open in shock. "...Marshal Lonta? Marshal Snite?!"